


The Life We Knew We Would

by idoltina



Series: Equality [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory 'gay marriage becomes legal in New York and the boys react' fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life We Knew We Would

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language

Kurt stares at his laptop screen in disbelief.

The ayes have it.

It's late, too late, and even if he makes the drive, the park will be closed. The shift will be over. Blaine's shift. Blaine, who is his friend and shares his views on politics. Blaine, who is gay and wants this just as much as he does. Blaine, who is his boyfriend, his boyfriend who holds his hand and kisses him in darkened corners. Blaine, Blaine, who is working a summer shift at Six Flags to save up money for all things practical and superfluous. Blaine, who buys him coffee in the morning and takes him out to dinner at Breadstix. Blaine, who will save up some of the money he earns this summer to start applying to colleges, to put a deposit down on an apartment. Blaine, who wants to go to New York, wonderful, beautiful, _legal_ New York. Blaine, who wants to go to college there with Kurt. Blaine, who _loves_ him. Blaine.

Oh, fuck it.

Kurt grabs the keys to his Navigator and clambers downstairs, whizzing past his father in the kitchen as he struggles to pull his coat on. “Where you goin' this late, kiddo?” Burt asks, mug in hand.

“It passed -- Blaine, I have to go to Blaine --”

“Whoa. Kurt, slow down. Start over.”

Kurt huffs his coat on and closes his eyes, fighting to be patient. His dad deserves this explanation, he does, and he knows his dad will be happy for him, but he's not going to marry his dad. “New York just passed their marriage equality law,” he explains, twirling his keyring on his finger. “Blaine will be getting off his shift by the time I get to the park, I have to tell him.”

Burt's face is blank for a moment, but then he sets the mug down on the table and crosses to Kurt in two strides, engulfing him in a warm hug. And Kurt- Kurt just _breathes_ for a moment and yes, he can take the time to do this because this is his _dad_ , the one person who has supported him for the last decade, the one person who could have turned him away when he came out but didn't, the one person who took a fist to Karofsky's shirt and growled in anger at the way Kurt had been mistreated. His _dad_. Kurt pulls away a little, eyes shining, and looks up into his father's face; they exchange a smile. “Go,” Burt laughs, and he sounds like he's trying not to _cry_. “Go get Blaine and bring him back here. We'll be up waiting.”

In the car, Kurt can't even bring himself to turn on the radio or connect his iPod; he feels like _singing_ , he's so happy, but there isn't any music, no song or voice in the world that could do his heart justice right now. His phone buzzes in the cup holder next to him -- he sees Rachel's name light up the screen -- but he ignores it; there will be plenty of time to talk later. He knows her dads are celebrating.

What is normally an hour ride to the park is cut in half as Kurt does seventy-five on the highway; if he were in New York right now, he'd probably get pulled over for speeding (assuming there wasn't too much traffic to be even going that fast in the first place), but he's in Ohio so there isn't a cop in sight and Kurt can _fly_ to the flags, yellow, orange, green, pink, blue, purple. When he parks just outside the gate, he realizes he's got a few minutes before Blaine's shift ends, and a few more until Blaine reaches his car.

At seven after the hour, Kurt recognizes a familiar figure making its way across the parking lot, but he's not alone. Kurt pulls out his phone.

_Text --_  
To: Blaine  
From: Kurt  
Come to the gate. 

Kurt watches as Blaine's phone lights up, watches as Blaine reads it, hates that Blaine is yards and yards away and can't see his face. When Blaine looks up, Kurt thinks he sees the features of recognition on Blaine's face and after a moment, the two make their way to the gate. It's not until they pass under a street lamp that Kurt recognizes Wes, and when they reach Kurt, they're laughing. “Warbler Kurt!” Wes greets brightly, pulling Kurt into a hug.

“Wes,” Kurt laughs, allowing himself to be squished. “I didn't know you were here.”

“He brought me to work today,” comes Blaine's voice from somewhere outside of Wes' arms.

Kurt looks up into Wes' face and smiles. “Can I take him home?”

“Hey,” Blaine says indignantly. “I'm not a puppy.”

“Yes you are,” Kurt chirps, and Wes laughs, releasing him.

They wave goodbye as Wes makes his way back to his car, and then Blaine is wrapping himself up in Kurt's arms, his eyes fatigued but his face bright, pleased. “Well this is a nice surprise,” Blaine enthuses, pulling Kurt closer. “I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow. I thought you were bringing your family up to the park.”

“I was -- I am,” Kurt reassess. “I had to see you tonight.” Blaine smiles a little faintly and god _damn_ , doesn't that make Kurt weak in the knees. “Something happened.”

Blaine's brow furrows. “Is everything okay --”

“Fine,” Kurt breathes, and the tears that he kept at bay when his dad hugged him earlier are threatening to burst from him again. “New York -- they did it.”

Blaine blinks, registers, and then blinks again. A breath leaves his chest rather haphazardly. “Really?”

“Really,” Kurt promises, taking Blaine's hand in his, running his thumb over Blaine's fingers: one, two, three, _four_ \--

“We're moving there,” Blaine says, and Kurt nods, smiling without teeth. “We're going to school there. We're going to _live_ there.”

“You said you were on board,” Kurt reminds him, and suddenly he's not standing outside of the parking lot of a theme park; he's back in the city, leaning against Tiffany's in his best suit, coffee and bagel in hand, confessing secrets and dreams with Rachel Berry. But he's not there, he's here, he's in Ohio, and he's a wreck and food is the furthest thing from his mind and Blaine is here, _here_. And someday soon, in a year, they'll be _there_.

“Again, making me sound like a puppy,” Blaine complains, but he's smiling fondly and Kurt doesn't take offense. “I am. I am on board. I want this -- New York, us.”

And it's Blaine standing in front of him, Blaine who is a teenage _dream_ and loves music and is smart and funny and charming and loves scarves and football (Kurt fights the urge to break out into Beyonce -- _if you like it then you should have put a ring on it_ ). Blaine, who took so long but was worth every minute. Blaine, who is confident and self-assured and fumbled over his words because of _Kurt_ , because Kurt _moves_ him. Blaine, who was brave and had _courage_ and danced with him at junior prom. Blaine, who _loves_ him. Loves him, loves him, loves him, Blaine, Blaine, _Blaine_ \--

Kurt leans forward, wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck, and rests his head against Blaine's, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily. “Do you have any idea,” Kurt breathes quietly, “how much I love you?”

Blaine _hmms_ and brings his hands up to to close around Kurt's, holding them in place. “They can't touch us.”

Kurt smiles a little, nuzzling Blaine's nose. “Or what we have. _God_ , I love you.”

“I know,” Blaine says, and Kurt can tell even with his eyes shut that he's _grinning_. Kurt opens his eyes and they meet each others' gaze for a long, steady, moment. And then Blaine's smile is faltering and Kurt _knows_ he's being transparent right now and that his eyes are communicating everything that he's too afraid to say, everything he wants to say and knows is true, everything that he _can't_ say because it's too soon and they're too young and a thousand other good, logical reasons why Kurt should not be so _reactive_ right now -- “Kurt,” Blaine breathes warningly. “Don't do this to me. You can't -- do _not_ propose to me right now. I will not keep it together, I swear to god --”

11:11. Make a wish.

Kurt bites his lip and tries to keep the mood light. “You can't keep it together around me anyway,” he teases.

“Unfair,” Blaine hisses, pulling him flush against his chest.

“You're just lucky they did it during a night shift,” Kurt continues, batting at Blaine's chest playfully. “If it'd been in the morning or the afternoon, I probably would've interrupted your show with a giant poster board --”

“Glitter?” Blaine asks.

“Of course,” Kurt chastises, offended that Blaine would even need to ask. He softens a little and runs his thumb across Blaine's bottom lip. “My dad wants you to come back to our house. To celebrate,” Kurt clarifies.

Affection and ache and pride and pain and joy and jealousy flood Blaine's eyes all at once, and Kurt can't think of anything useful or comforting to say. But he doesn't have to, because _New York_ is all Blaine needs to remember and then Blaine smiles, nodding. “Let's go.”

In the car, they're silent and Kurt isn't in a rush this time. He's not in a rush to get to Blaine, to tell Blaine, to _ask_ Blaine, because Blaine is next to him and with him and _New York_. They've always got New York. There's time. After awhile, Blaine reaches over to take his hand, mimicking the tracing pattern on Kurt's fingers, one, two, three, _four_ \--

Kurt's breath hitches and he smiles at Blaine sideways. He needs a distraction; otherwise, he's going to start _reacting_ again and then his heart will rush forth and he can't, he can't --

But he _can_. That's the point of tonight. He _can_ now, if he wants to. After a past, a lifetime of being told no, Kurt knows that he's moving forward to a future where he's finally being told _yes, you can_.

 _Blaine_ will say yes.

“Put some music on?” Kurt asks, swallowing.

Blaine reaches forward and fiddles with the dial on the stereo, using his right hand so his left doesn't leave Kurt's. It's a gesture. It's Blaine's _left_ hand.

Okay, Kurt has _got_ to get a grip.

A guitar starts to play and Blaine settles back into his seat comfortably, softly singing along. “ _We'll do it all, everything, on our own_.”

Kurt joins him, “ _We don't need anything or anyone_.”

The lines that follow are unspoken pledges of _I love you_ , and then they're singing for them, for their generation, for hope, for _New York_. “ _Forget what we're told before we get too old._ ” And Kurt knows, Kurt knows that he doesn't have to wait anymore, that he won't be old and gray and waiting for the world to catch up to what he's known all along. When he's seventy-five and silver-haired and god forbid _wrinkled_ , he'll be able to wear a band of silver or gold like any other man.

He wants Blaine to put it there.

“ _All that I am, all that ever was is here in your perfect eyes; they're all I can see. If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?_ ” The world is finally starting to catch up.

Blaine continues to hold his hand as they walk up the driveway, through the front door, into the living room. They're met by Kurt's family, swept into hugs and cheers and laughter and champagne glasses filled with sparkling cider and Finn has put on _Gaga_ , for crying out loud. And Blaine looks _overwhelmed_ and all Kurt wants to do is engulf him in a real hug, kiss him, all of the things he hasn't actually done tonight. But they're tossed around from one warm embrace, one bright smile to another, and all that's missing from the festivities are some noise makers and confetti and it could be New Year's Eve --

“ _Oh_ ,” Kurt breathes, gripping the back of a chair. “ _Oh_.”

“Kurt?” He looks up to find his dad hovering over him, concern flooding his face. “You okay?”

“I -- yeah,” Kurt says breathlessly, chancing a glance over at Blaine, who's talking brightly to Finn. “I -- Dad, you know, you have to know,” he pleads, lowering his voice so that only his father can hear him. “I'm going to marry him.”

Burt bites his lip. “Did you ask --”

Kurt shakes his head. “No. But I just -- I just figured out how I want to do it.”

“Did you now?” Burt asks, and his tone is light, playful, amused.

Kurt nods and is grateful that his father is indulging him right now even though he's seventeen and hasn't even _known_ Blaine a year, much less been with him that long. Carole sidles up to them, linking an arm through Burt's. “What are you boys talking about?”

Burt raises his glass toward his son. “Apparently, Kurt here has figured out how he's going to propose.”

Carole's face lights up. “Oh honey, did you --”

“Keep your voice down,” Kurt implores, glancing back over at Blaine. “Yeah, I did. I -- New York. I'm going to do it there.”

“That's a year away,” Burt reminds him.

“More than a year,” Kurt corrects. “I -- I don't know if I'll do it the first year we're there or not. But one year we'll go -- Times Square on New Year's Eve --”

“Oh Kurt,” Carole breathes, tears swimming in her eyes. “Oh honey.”

“I --” Kurt flushes, unable to hold their gaze. “People do it every year.”

It's quiet for a minute, and then Burt breaks the silence. “Best way to show the world that what you have is just as right as what we do.”

Kurt looks up at his father and it's a repeat of earlier in the evening, eyes shining, understanding and warmth and _acceptance_ radiating between them. There's nothing left to be said. After a moment, he squeezes his dad's hand and moves to join Blaine on the couch, curling up into his side. His dad and Carole are tactful enough to retire for the night and practically drag Finn upstairs with them, leaving the two boys -- two boys who are in love and have new rights in the state they're moving to and who _can_ be in love -- alone on the couch. “Do you think they'll mind if we reschedule the park visit to next weekend instead?” Blaine murmurs, fingers tracing over Kurt's again.

Kurt shakes his head. “Probably not. Why?”

“Pride,” Blaine says quietly. “Cleveland is having their parade and festival tomorrow. I -- will you go with me?” he asks.

“Can you get off work?” Kurt pries. “It's pretty late notice; though I guess, if you called in sick --”

“I'll text Luke,” he insists. “Get him to switch shifts with me. I'll work Sunday instead.”

“You'll be exhausted,” Kurt points out. “Cleveland's a three hour drive --”

“I don't care.” Blaine looks up at him imploringly, eyes wide and eager and _hopeful_. “This is probably the last chance we'll have to be a part of pride in Ohio before we move and I just --”

“Prejudice is just ignorance,” Kurt echos thoughtfully, pressing closer to Blaine. “Ohio's probably years behind New York, Blaine,” Kurt says gently. “I mean, look at _California_ \--”

“One state at a time.” Blaine is smiling.

Kurt leans forward and picks up two of the cider filled glasses from the coffee table, passing one off the Blaine. “A toast,” Kurt proclaims, raising his glass. “To New York.”

“To New York,” Blaine agrees, clinking his glass with Kurt's. He takes a sip, and then, more quietly, “To us.”

“To us,” Kurt parrots, setting their glasses back on the table.

Blaine leans forward, cupping Kurt's face in his hands, and breathes out. “To the life we knew we would.”

“Oh,” Kurt breathes back as Blaine's lips crash against his. _It's what you do to me._


End file.
